


Accustomed To Her

by futurelounging



Series: FuLo's Other Outlander Tales [2]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 13:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15243915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futurelounging/pseuds/futurelounging
Summary: John reflects on his marriage to Isobel.Based on a prompt from Gizmomilly on Tumblr for Other Outlander Tales.





	Accustomed To Her

John licked the tip of his finger and grasped the edge of the page, holding it mid-turn to re-read the final words on the page, whispering them over his wind-chapped lips. A soft knock at the door interrupted his murmurings.

_Isobel?_

He drew his robe closed over his nightclothes and steadied himself. He’d not been with her since that first night. Since they spoke vows and laughed at William’s theatrical dancing. Since he set his lips upon her body in fervent desire to please her. Since he withdrew from his ministrations to see her face unperturbed, neither pleased or displeased, but...impatient. And so he eased her impatience. And when he’d finished and forced himself to swallow the apologies that gathered on the tip of his tongue, he mourned what they might have lost to this moment.

She had surprised him the next morning with an airy ‘good morning’ and a kiss to his reddened cheek. She’d peppered him with eager questions of how they might spend their first day as husband and wife. He looked at her earnestly, trying to measure the honesty of her demeanor and found not deceit, but relief. And at that, his own heart beat with a gentler rhythm.

And now, with the knock echoing through the anxious chambers of his mind, he wondered if he was wrong. Had she expected him to join her again, all these weeks? Would she hate him for his selfish disregard?

_I am a poor husband._

She stood before him, eyes red-rimmed and puffy.

“What is it, my darling? Are you hurt?”

Isobel sniffled and shook her head, a small smile painting her lips in apology for worrying him. “If you…” The words dissipated as they met the air, uncertain and weary.

“Tell me.”

“I should like...to not be alone. If you are unopposed to the arrangement, it would please me.”

Her eyes had not met his, instead darting between his feet and his chest.

“You wish me to...sleep with you?”

Isobel nodded. He reached for her hands, clasped before her and pulled one away, pressing it between his palms.

“What is it?”

She met his eyes finally, a resolve steeling the features of her face. “I do not wish to have children. Other than our William, of course. He is...more than enough for me. Would he be enough for you, John?”

The words stuttered as he tried to gather what she was saying. “Your sis - ah, that is - if you should…” John shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “Yes, I believe the three of us are perfect.”

Her smile bloomed at his admission and she continued. “I am very pleased with our time together during the day. Our walks and conversations are my happiest moments. And so I find I am missing that at night. Just...your presence. It does comfort me.”

His smile now matched hers. “You are not concerned they will think I am demanding too much of my young wife?”

“Let them.”

It had begun that way, with a simple request. And so he found himself, most evenings, curled beside his wife, a book propped on its side until the candle burned too low. They drifted apart and together again through the night, seeking the simple reassuring touch of the other as they required. Sometimes only the heat of his body near hers was enough to settle her nervous dreams. Sometimes he held her tightly and spoke of courageous hearts and the pompous proclamations of their son.

He had become accustomed to her. To her nearness.

And now she was gone.

His heart stopped when the ship arrived and only her ghost departed. His son, whose words never stopped, had been struck mute by the horrors he’d seen. John’s throat burned with salt, squeezing itself until he saw stars.

In her darkest moments, she sought him out. His solid form beside hers holding her aloft in the waves. But he had not been there. She had been alone.

John’s arms tightened around his son’s slumbering form, their skins sweating where they touched. This was the part of love Isobel had taught him. That the declarations of the heart manifest in our very bodies. In the breath across his cheek. In the gentle vibrations of his chest. In the heat of his skin warming the air between them. His love was alive.

He watched William’s sleeping face and saw his friend’s high cheekbones, casting proud shadows. He saw his wife’s sister’s lashes fluttering against porcelain skin. These parts of them were alive in this boy.

So, too, would Isobel live on. John would see her again in the way William would straighten his utensils before he ate. Just as she’d taught him. He’d hear her whenever his son muttered “doubtful” behind the backs of braggarts, just as he’d learned from her. John would see her when he looked at himself in the mirror each morning, her fingers straightening the cravat around his neck.

His love was alive.


End file.
